Sry, suck at titles
by EnjoyMagic
Summary: Caralyn, falls back in time with her friend Jack Sparrow Junior, a hard destiny to offer, and a major crush on a certain Will Turner the Third. How will the relationship go on? Will Cara be sent home?  PS can someone tell me how to add chapters correctly?


Pirates of the Carribean Fanfiction

**Me (or Jessica02) :** hello and thx for picking our story. i will marry u and love u forever if you rate and review it! constructive critisism is encouraged, but please dont be mean, ok? we're new at dis

**Jessica01 : **arent you forgetting something?

**Me :** nothing comes to mind. . . OHHH jessica is in love with JOHNNY DEPP! _**MWUAHAHAH!**_

**Jessica01 :**_ *twitches and rubs temples* _we do NOT own POTC, though i'm sure jessica wishes she did. . .

**Me :** why can't i own it? _*cries*_

**Jessica01** : because youre not special enough _*watches as jessica02 runs away crying, and sighs* _enjoy

**Warning : **Rated M for language

Summary (long) : Caralyn (AKA Cara) Bones is an I-hate-Life kinda 17 year old, especially since people make fun of her short height. Her best friend is Jack Sparrow Jr., a 16 year old, time-traveling pirate. On one of his visits, they talk like they always do. The next morning, Cara wakes up, on the deck of _The Black Pearl_, along with the Sparrow and Turner Families. She is meant to help rescue AnaMaria's little sister, and along the way, falls in love with William Turner the third.

Will she go back home, or stay with Will, living on the sea, like she always wanted?

mostly WT3 X OC some of JS/AM & WT/ES

PS : If any1 could email me on how to add chapters to this thing, i'll love you. my cousin had trouble with this, and her stories couldn't be posted under chapters, so it was one big mess. plz HELP plzplzplzplzplzplzplz?

Chapter 1 : Early Thanksgiving Visit

"Godamn whorebag," I swear under my breath.

"Say something?" My mom, Stephanie, interupts my self-mumbling, with a cocky _I'll-kick-your-ass-if-you-don't-listen _tone. I shake my head, not letting my eyes meet hers. "Good. Now go switch the laundry like I told you to."

She leaves the small, baby-yellow kitchen, to relax upstairs. The obnoxious tune of _The Suite LIfe on Deck_ from Disney Channel echoes throughout the main floor, which only increases my migraine. Alec, my younger brother, hollers in hysterical laughter over something pathetic.

_Am I the only one who does chores in this place? Sheesh!_ I snatch a plastic cup from the cabnet, to get some water.

After dousing a cup, I tread down the stairs leading to the basement, jumping over the last 6 steps, landing the jump. "And the crowd goes wild!" I say, mimicking sport announcers. I bow. "Thank you! Thank you! NOT."

I strut over to the washing machine, grab all the towels, and dump them into the empty dryer. Humming_ "A Pirate's Life for me"_, I toss in a little dryer sheet thing, close the door, and press start.

As I'm just about to go back upstairs, I see something shiny. I trail over to the other side of the basement, only to find a sword.

It must be my grandfather's, and my dad probably hid it. He didn't like his parents. The only "good" thing they did for him, was give him the house after they died when I was 10. But the way my grandparents told me about Dad, the more I understood he was just a money-grubbing spoiled rich-kid, and he was never satisfied with what he got.

Dad wouldn't even let me go to their funeral. He said they were "currupting" me. I don't see how. They were more parent-like to me then my parents ever were, are, whatever.

Almost as an instinct, I grasp the hilt of the sword, and unsheath it. The blade is about a yard long, give or take a couple inches, and a reflective silver. I can see a bit of my short, bleach-blonde and brown, blue-streaked, choppy/messy, straight hair, side bangs over my right eye, which is brown, as the other is blue (yes, I'm special. 2 different eye colors, and people think you're blind; how nice).

I squint my eyes. There's something engraved on the blade. I take it closer to the pale light, at the bottom of the stairs. _Peut-être la lune lumière nous sauver tous_. If my super-awesome French skills are right, it says "May the moon light save us all."

I ponder over this for a moment. What could it mean? Surely there's a reason why GrandDad kept it safe.

I smile at the thought of him. I miss him terribly. GrandMa too. Their death is why I hate life. The only people good to me died, leaving me alone forever.

I get a good grip on the handle of the sword, and take a few swings. I do some footwork GrandDad showed me, swinging my left arm around with the sword, careful not to cut myself. I used to think it was just dancing, but I know it wasn't. He was teaching me how to use a sword, without actually teaching me.

I twirl around, loving the feeling of an escape to Memory Lane. Hell, I even go over to Dad's old boxing crap, taking a few swings at the beat-up punching-bag.

The blade is super-sharp, easily slicing through the tough material of the bag, letting white stuff creep out. (And no, it's not that, you freaking pervs!)

"You're quite a natural." A voice echoes from behind me. I spin around fast, landing in a position ready to attack if needed. I sigh. Then giggle like a girlie-girl.

"What are you doing here, J.J.?" I ask. In front of me, is a 5'6" teenage boy, with tanned skin, shoulder-length black, dread-locked hair, with a blue bandana and a few beads, and peircing black/brown eyes. His face is dirty, as are his clothes. Dark brown, baggy pants, tucked into black just-below-the-knee boots, held up by a red sash (kinda girlie, but he works it). On the sash, are 2 pistols, and a sheathed sword. No doubt in his boots are daggers or pocket knives. A puffy, stained, white long-sleeved shirt, with no collar, and a vest a few shades lighter than his pants. On the vest, are little beads, and metal trinkets with skulls on them, and 2 hawk feathers. This is my best friend, Jack Sparrow Junior. He's a time-traveling 16 year old pirate from the 1700s.

"What, I need a reason to visit me best frien'?" He gives me a look that says _you-know-me-better_. He comes over, and hugs me after I lower the sword. He smells of alcohol.

"Ewwe, Jack, you reek of rum!" I whine. I push him away, and he pouts, but it has no effect on me.

"Well, I am a pirate, savvy? It's in me blood." He sways a bit, and I can tell he's not really sober. "How's me favorite friend bein' today?"

"You didn't answer me question, so I'm not gonna answer yours, _savvy_?" I mock his pirate word, speaking like I was drunk too. I make my way back over to the sheath for the sword.

After sheathing it, I see a small chest, with a lock, that matches the key-necklace GrandMa gave me the night she died. I never take it off, so I wear it on a long chain so it can hide underneath my shirt so Mom won't see it.

It has the same engravement on it as the sword does, so I grab the handle, and make my way back upstairs, with Jack trailing after me like a lost puppy.

Once we're in the safety of my room, after I lock the door, we sit on the bed, eating chocoalate chips. "I thought you were allergic to milk." Jack begins, starring as I toss 5 chips in my mouth.

"I am. I can still eat chocoalate, as long as it doesn't have much or no milk. It won't kill me. If anything I'll get a small tummy-ache later." The sugary goodness melts, and I swallow it. Jack shrugs, and tosses a few chips in his own mouth, with the occasional swig of rum. "So, why are you here?"

He sighs. "I'll be goin' off with me dad an' the Turners, so I won't be having time to come visit ye." I nod. The Turners are always part of the adventures Jack has had. He tells me all about them, and the adventures his dad had with the Turners.

I wish I could Travel back with Jack. I hate it here. Junior year in school sucks. My parents hate me, and the feeling's mutual. Alec annoys me to no end, and constantly gets away with things, because I always get blamed. Most people hate me, except for like 3 people friends at school, because of my foul-mouth, temper, and clothes.

I wear a mix of goth and skater, only the skinny jeans are neon colors, and I switch between high-top skater sneaks, and Uggs. From the front left belt loop, starts a dangling chain, which is connected to my cell phone in my back left pocket. Black 3/4s jackets, with Invader Zim or Mad Hatter logos, and a neon green fingerless glove for my left hand, and a neon orange one for my right. My eyes are constantly lined with black or purple eye liner.

On lazy days, I wear sort of a pirates' outfit. Loose, bagging shorts, Jack's old black boots, just below the knees. A black tank top, sports bra (which doesn't really matter. I'm only a B, compared to D-sized girlie-whore cheerleaders. . .), and a red sash around my waist, like Jacks, only, mine is a belly-dancer's, since that's my thing. I dance, somewhat sing. Every one stares disapprovingly when I wear this specific outfit, because they see the tatoos of cresent moons on my fore arms, especially the one on my left wrist. A black-lined blue cresent moon, with thorned vines weaving themselves around the moon, and the sword peircing it, and on the hilt of the sword, a blood-red rose. It's my favorite. I also have another one of it enlarged on my lower back, like a tramp-stamp.

I also have my upper left cartilage peirced, both ears peirced regularly, and the right side of my nose peirced with a small pure emerald spud.

Starting to rammble on here. . ."That's cool. Where you guys headed?"

"Ya know me mum, AnaMaria?" I nod, even though I never met the lady. AnaMaria is a femal pirate, and was a member of Jack's dad's crew aboard _The Black Pearl_, much to Gibbs's dismay. "Her little sister, Sophie, was kidnapped. We're gonna get 'er back."

"Must be tough for her. Can't imagine what it feels like." I can't imagine it. I wish sooo much for that to happen to the bugger called Alec. God, I hate him.

"Yeah well, that's what's happened. I'll be gone for a while, so I won't be able to visit ye every weekend. Sorry, love." That's a habit of his. He calls people "love" like his dad. "Ohh, and Will's birthday just passed."

"Which one, 2 or 3?" I ask. There are 3 Turners in exsistence in Jack's time. "Bootstrap Bill" Will Turner, a pirate, but good man, and who's _technically_ dead, but living, his son, Will Turner Junior, blacksmith and pirate, married to the governer's daughter, Elizabeth Swann, and _his_ son, Will Turner, 17 year old pirate, master swordsman, like his father, and from what I've heard, also a good man, with an unnatural kindness to stangers, though he's killed people like any other pirate. I hear all about them. I highly doubt Jack talks about me to them, though. No need for people thinking he's more crazy than he already is.

"3. Will's now 18 years old. Old man." Jack shudders.

"Ya know, you're not even 3 years younger than the dude. No need to call him old." I retort.

"You're old, too." I slap him across the face.

"Rules you need to know : 1.) _Never_ call me old, or I'll slap you again. 2.) _Never_ ask a girl her age. You'll lose your memory, and any brain cells left. And 3.) _Never_ _**EVER**_ ask a girl her weight, especially me, or you'll become a eunuch. Got it?" He nods.

I'm sensitive about my weight. I'm not fat or anything. Quite the opposite. I'm too skinny. My waist is so small, you'd think I'm constanly wearing a corsette (you'll never get me into those things again, no matter WHAT. Bad memories *shudders*). My chest is smaller than average, a small 28-B. My hips are the only exception. They're wide, much more compared to the rest of my body. My skinny jeans constantly show off my soccer-butt, making my hips seem larger than they are already. My legs are porportioned equally with my body, and you can see the muscles from soccer.

Overall, I only weigh about 80 pounds, no matter how much I eat. I'm short too, which probably contributes to my weight. Being 5 feet tall, you would seriously think I'm 11, not 17, if you saw me. And people don't let me forget it.

"Do you know where Sophie is?"

"We think she's somewhere near the Isle of the Dead, near Jamaica. It'll be a long journey, so we're gonna be stoppin' at Tortuga and Singapore for supplies along the way." Jack explains.

I sigh. "I wish I could come. I'd give _anything_ to get away from here." I hope Jack catches my drift.

"Ye wouldn't last a day wit' pirates." Jack laughs. "You'd be dead or raped in a minute. Sweetie, there's no way ye'd survive."

I chuckle. Clearly the rum has gone to his head. "You _are _forgetting that I happen to be a master in karate, kung fu, and gang-styled fighting. Seriously. If we were to fight with no guns, I would kick your ass, even if you had swords." He is silent. "I can take care of myself."

"I know ye can. But you're like my sister, and back in my time, women are taken lightly. Ye'd never get a chance to prove worth to ye-self, even with pirates. Ye not used to it, savvy?" He looks at me. His face is sad, but I know what he means.

I'm too much of an independent person to not be taken seriously. I'd probably kill someone if they ordered me around like a maid, just because I'm a female. I hate sexism.

"So what are ye doin' for Thanksgiving, tomorrow?" Jack changes the subject.

"Usual. My mom's mom is coming, we're having dinner, I do the dishes and laundry, then nothing. Ya know, what happenes every year." I frown. I hate my family.

They also hate me, and everything I love. They love the land, hiking, sports, yadda yadda yadda. I love the water. Every chance I get, I'm on a boat, whether it be fishing, swimming, or just relaxing, I'm on, in, or near water.

Jack understands this. He always had. But he can't bring me back with him. Not just because I won't last, but because last time he tried, I ended up 60 miles away from home, and he ended up back into the 1960s. Not a good thing to try again.

So we talk about other things. Eventually, I end up laying my head on his chest, falling alseep.

I wake up. Someone's screaming bloody murder.

_**"CARALYYYYN!" **_Ohh. It's just Mom. I crawl out of bed, not really noting Jack's already left.

I run to the kitchen, to find Mom at the counter, with a chef's knife in her hand, cutting garlic. Her arms are covered in hives. "Jesus _**FUCKING **_Crist, child! Ya'd think to know _**NOT**_ to put the garlic next to the onions! Look at what _**YOU DID**_!"

I just stand there. I turn to go to the bathroom for her medicine.

I fall to the floor. Unconscious.

What a great way to begin Thanksgiving, right?

Chapter 2 : Upon a Passed Ship

There's the sound of the sea, flowing all around. I breathe deeply, taking in the fresh scent of salt, but there's something else.

Almost like a burning metal englufs my senses. The scent is strong, but not overpowering. I hear distant voices, but I can't make anything out.

Pain hits me like a bullet. From my lower chest up is throbbing or on fire.

I can't breathe. It hurts too much. Make it stop! Please!

I take extremely shallow breathes, but it hurts. I try to stay calm, and sit up to breathe better. But I can't move. At all.

Something grabs my hand. Something else touches my head. I can't focus on anything but the pain.

Certain parts of my ribs, my arms, and my face. Especially my forehead. God, please just kill me. I can't stand it!

I pass out.

Something rough touches my forehead, stroking it gently. I feel my bangs being moved around. I feel, almost safe with this touch. Wonder what it is.

I take a deep breath, but wince. My chest hurts, and it feels like it's binded by something.

"Fuck. . ." I mutter under my breath. I moan. This is not the best way to wake up. Not at all.

"That word's not lady-like." A voice replies softly.

I refuse to open my eyes to see who it is, 'cause I certainly don't know. "I don't remember the last time I was lady-like or proper. It's not me." I whisper back.

"Why not?"

"Because I love the sea. I love messing around, fighting, not. . .not trying to be pretty, or classy. I find it superficial an-"

"How is she?" A loud voice interupts me. Jack's voice.

"She's awake and talking, just refusing to move or open her eyes." The voice besides me says. It's a gentle tenor voice.

"Yup. Sounds just like 'er in the morn." Jack replies.

"You would know, Jack. You're lucky it's not you waking me up, and I can't move, or you'd be on the floor, crying." I hiss. I smirk, knowing full well Jack isn't very happy with what I just said.

"Must we go back to this conversation, Cara? Really." Jack whines. He just knows I'm gonna win this argument.

"Yup. Because you know I'd beat you, as long as you don't have a gun. Even with swords, you have no chance." I slowly open my eyes, and blink a couple times. Over me, is a guy. He has light hazel/chocoalate eyes, natural brown hair with blonde highlights, and tanned skin, though he's much whiter and cleaner than Jack, with flawless skin. His hair's pin straight, and pulled back by a ribbon. I realize it's his hand on my head.

_Interesting. Where have I seen him before?_ I think. He's familiar, but I can't put my finger on it.

The sunlight stings my sensitive eyes, and I turn my head away from the window. "Can someone close the blind? It's too early to see sunlight." I complain. Jack hops on the bed, and closes the curtains. Then he flops down to indian-style, sitting next to my legs.

"How ye feeling, love?"

"Ohh, dandy!" Sarcasm drips in my voice. "I feel like I'm going on a walk with Alec in a magical field with rainbows and flowers, waiting to find my true love, who's the only one out there for me, and we'll get married, have kids, and my parents will shower me in love and gold and we'll all live happily ever after!"

The guy next to me chuckles, while Jack sighs and shakes his head. "Yer such a sappy girl, ye know tha'?" Jack exclaims.

"And you need to learn when to tell if someone's being sarcastic or not." I retort. "And yes, I am a sappy girl, which is why none of the cheer whores or jock, skater, or nerd sluts talk to me. All the more reason to hate life and society."

"I rest my case." Jack sighs again.

"Mind telling me where I am, and why I'm here and aching like I just got hit by a truck? Because I don't remember anything." I attempt to sit up, but the guy puts his hand on my sternum, and softly pushes me back down.

"Sorry, but you're not going anywhere in your condition. You'll hurt yourself more." His tenor, English accent voice rings with gentleness, and some other thing I don't reconize. His accent shows proper speaking (meaning he's educated), and is much more enunciated than Jack's constant slurs.

His eyes burn into mine, and I give a small "thank you" in the form of a smile. He smiles back, showing off perfect white teeth.

"Cara, you're gonna hafta not interupt me speakin', 'kay?" Jack asks. I tear my eyes from the guy's, and nod at Jack. He sighs for the bajillionth time. "Yer in my time."

My eyes go wide. "In the-"

"Yes, in the 1700s. I don't know how, I don't know why, ye just are. The crew found ye on the deck. Love. . . some one tried to kill ye." Jack's black eyes shows deep regret. "Ye were stabbed several times in the chest and arms, and ye throat's been slit, but luckily not deep enough to draw blood for Davy Jones. Ye have burn marks all along yer back, and several broken ribs. . ."

My left hand shoots up to my chest, just under my boobs_. So that's why my chest's binded._

Jack sees this, and rubs my leg. "And. . ." He swallows. "Someone tried to slash out yer blue eye. They probably thought yer the devil for 2 different eye colors. The gash was from the corner of yer eye, to yer forehead. Ye were also shot. We thought ye died, Caralyn. I thought ye weren't gonna make it for a while." He doesn't cry, or choke back sobs, but I can tell he's been beating himself up for this. He looks like sleep hasn't been his friend lately.

"The only odd thing about it, is that you are nearly healed, and it's only been about 2 days since we found you on deck. All your cuts and gashes have healed, barely leaving scars, except for the burns on your back, and the one above your eye." The guy next to me, runs his calloused fingers gently over I guess where the scar is. "Your ribs should be fine, too, but just in case you should stay in bed for another day or so."

"But, how'd I get here? I mean, Jack, you're the only one who's capable of time-travel, out of your century _and_ mine. There's no way I could'a gotten here."

"No need for worryin' 'bout that, right now. Ye should just rest. I'll check in later, Cara. Will here will keep ye company. I got to report back to me dad an' the Turners." Jack hops up from by my legs, and leaves the room.

I take it in. A dark maple-colored wood, made up the walls and the floor. I'm in a small, twin-sized bed, laying on top of a bunch of quilts. Over in the corner is a small black desk, with a bunch of papers, and next to it, is another bed. I'm guessing this is where Jack and Will bunk together. Guessing. I have no idea if it's true or not.

My gaze turns back to the guy next to me. I give a small smirk. "So you're the infamous, dashing Will Turner the Third I've heard so much about, aren't you?"

He stares at me. "And you're the clever, stubborn Caralyn Bones from the future, that I've _also_ heard so much about?" He retorts. I love his voice. It's so smooth and perfect. "It seems Jack doesn't know restraint when it comes to talking about his friends." Will smiles.

"Either that, or Jack Senior introduced him to rum a little _too_ early in life, and neither knows self-control, whether smashed _or_ sober." Will chuckles, and I give a full-blwn warm smile. Wow. Hadn't done that in a while.

"That is very true. They're both daft." I close my eyes and sigh. Reality just hits me. I'm in the past. On the _Black Pearl_, captained by Jack Sparrow Sr., and Will Turner Jr. Some one tried killing me, being almost successful, and some how I'd been transported here. And now I'm laying in bed, with Will Turner the Third by my side.

And the biggest thing. . .I'm away from home. Away from disapproving parents, evil little brothers, school peers and teachers who think I'm not worth the breath they use to talk to me. Away on a ship, sailing across the Carribean. What could be better?

"So tell me about you." Will begins, I'm guessing to break the silence that's engulfed us already.

"Well, Rule 1: Don't treat me like a lady. I'm probably the most outspoken, moody, messy woman you'll _**EVER **_meet, and I can't _stand_ dresses, happy people, kids 7 and up, and anything pink. Rule 2: If you want me to like you, let me blow up when I'm mad, but you _should_ keep me from killing Jack. 3: Be yourself around me. I could care less about appearances and crap. And 4: Just. . .don't hate me. I've seen enough hate in my life to fuel the world until the end of time, and I'm tired of it."

"Other than that. I mean, Jack has told me all about your little 'I'm going to kill some one' temper." Will chuckles again. "What do you like to do?"

"Ohh. I like sports, mostly soccer, but not football. I've always loved the sea, even if my parents hate it. My granddad used to tell me stories all about it. He even taught me how to use a sword, sorta. At first I thought it was just dancing. . ." I trail off.

"How do you know it _wasn't _dancing?"

"Couple days ago, I was doing the launndry. I saw something, and it turned out to be a sword, with an engravement in French. I messed around a bit, swinging it at an old punching bag. I ended up doing some of the footwork GrandDad showed me. It helped me get quicker, and my blows got stronger. Then Jack came, saying how I was a natural.


End file.
